A slice of fantastical history of AA. Dr Bob and Bill W. have met and worked together in Akron. Newly discovered is a trove of text phone messages between them covering a period about a year later, as AA was growing.
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That’s a brilliant idea — a "slice of fantastical history" built around imagined text messages between Bill W. and Dr. Bob in the very earliest days of AA.
Let’s run with it. Here's a first take:
Background:
In this fantastical reimagining, a recently unearthed set of "textphone" messages (think vintage 1930s telegrams mixed with modern texting slang) gives a glimpse into the friendship, growing pains, and sheer improvisation behind AA’s first expansion year.
The year is 1936.
[ Textphone Transcript: Bill W. & Dr. Bob, 1936 ]
Bill W:
Hey Bob. Got a new guy today. Wall Street type. Real mess. Thought he was Napoleon for a minute. LOL.
Dr. Bob:
LOL? Explain.
Bill W:
Laugh out loud. Just invented it. Handy for our crew.
Anyway. Thought: maybe it’s not about fixing them. Maybe it’s about sharing.
Dr. Bob:
Sharing = yes.
Fixing = nope.
They hate sermons. They like stories.
Bill W.:
Stories > lectures. Noted.
Also: wondering if we need a guidebook.
Dr. Bob:
A "Big Book"? Ha. Start small. We are 12 people lol.
Bill W.:
12. Huh. Like apostles.
Maybe 12 things to do??
Dr. Bob:
12 steps?
Too churchy?
Or... maybe perfect.
Bill W.:
Step 1: "Admit we are beat."
Step 2: "Borrow hope from a higher power."
Dr. Bob:
Simple. Unfancy. Good.
Also: Must mention God but not pushy God. Optional God?
Bill W.:
"God as we understand Him."
Game changer. Universal adapter.
Dr. Bob:
Brilliant.
You should write this down before the whiskey brain kicks in.
Bill W.:
RUDE but fair.
Also: thought of a name for us.
Dr. Bob:
Shoot.
Bill W.:
Alcoholics Anonymous.
AA for short.
Dr. Bob:
Slick.
Feels... safe.
I like it.
Bill W.:
Worried tho.
Some ppl say we need $$, board, big hospital.
Dr. Bob:
AA = no bosses. No buildings. No money-grab.
Only thing we got is our stories.
Bill W.:
Ok. AA = free.
Stories = medicine.
Meetings = campfires.
Dr. Bob:
Yep.
And every drunk is welcome.
No test. No papers.
Only requirement = want to stop.
Bill W.:
Dude we are building something.
Feels huge.
Like spiritual bootlegging.
Dr. Bob:
Moonshine of the soul.
Bill W.:
LOL.
Dr. Bob:
LOL.
Bill W.:
Hey Bob... thanks for sticking with me.
This thing only works if two drunks believe in it together.
Dr. Bob:
Same here, Bill.
You and me = flint and steel.
Sparks = hope.
Would you like a second "batch" a little later — like, when they're arguing about writing the Big Book or deciding on the first traditions?
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It's about a year later — around 1937-1938, when they’re realizing AA could collapse if they don’t set down some basic principles.
They love each other, but they bicker like brothers sometimes.
[ Textphone Transcript: Bill W. & Dr. Bob, 1937-1938 ]
Bill W.:
Bob. Panic mode.
New groups starting up in Cleveland, NY, even Toledo.
Everyone making up their own rules.
One guy wants a dress code.
Dr. Bob:
Dress code??
For drunks??
Bill W.:
Yep. "Ties and jackets."
Also no women allowed.
Also no Catholics.
Total disaster.
Dr. Bob:
Smdh.
(This means "shaking my damn head" — future slang I'm inventing.)
Bill W.:
LOL. Love it.
Anyway.
I’m thinking: we need ground rules.
Dr. Bob:
Danger.
Rules = resentment.
Bill W.:
Not rules. Traditions.
Guidelines. Suggestions.
Dr. Bob:
Hmmm.
Soft rules.
"Like the fence around a children's playground." (Did you just make that up?)
Bill W.:
Yes and no.
I might have stolen it from a sermon.
Dr. Bob:
Haha. Divine plagiarism.
Ok. What traditions?
Bill W.:
-
Unity first.
-
Group decisions not boss decisions.
-
Keep AA broke.
(= no corporate empire.) -
No endorsements.
(No celebrity drunks.)
Dr. Bob:
Yes to all.
Also:
God > personal ego.
Bill W.:
Big YES.
Humility is oxygen.
Dr. Bob:
How many traditions total?
Bill W.:
12.
Dr. Bob:
AGAIN WITH THE 12??
Bill W.:
12 is sacred.
Plus: symmetry.
12 steps. 12 traditions.
Like a matched set of socks.
Dr. Bob:
Ok ok.
You and your mystical socks.
Bill W.:
LOL.
Dr. Bob:
And what about writing the Big Book?
Still stalling?
Bill W.:
Working on it.
Hard to write a book when 90% of your brain wants a drink.
Dr. Bob:
Work 10 minutes a day.
God will do the rest.
Bill W.:
Also:
I think we should add the real stories of the early guys.
Not just preachy stuff.
Dr. Bob:
YES.
Story medicine > lectures.
Bill W.:
Imagine:
Some lonely drunk picks up our book at 3AM, thinking he’s the only one.
And there it is.
Proof he’s not.
Dr. Bob:
Hope in print.
Bill W.:
New slogan?
Dr. Bob:
Nah.
Just a truth.
Bill W.:
Love you, Bob.
Dr. Bob:
Love you too, buddy.
Now go write.
Would you like a third batch, showing the Big Book finally coming out, but also showing Bill freaking out about whether people will hate it — and Bob calming him down?
##
Awesome. Here's Batch Three:
It’s 1939 now. The Big Book is about to come out. Bill is full of last-minute terror and self-doubt. Dr. Bob, true to form, keeps it grounded and simple.
[ Textphone Transcript: Bill W. & Dr. Bob, Spring 1939 ]
Bill W.:
Bob.
Emergency.
Big Book at printer.
Sudden attack of pure dread.
Dr. Bob:
Specifics, pls.
Bill W.:
What if it's terrible??
What if nobody buys it??
What if it kills AA instead of saving it??
What if the Oxford Group people laugh at us??
What if we needed a different higher power section???
Dr. Bob:
Lol.
You are in alcoholic catastrophizing mode.
Step away from the ledge.
Bill W.:
I mean it.
Maybe we should recall it before it ships.
Add more theology. Or psychology. Or vitamins.
Dr. Bob.:
NO.
Bill W.:
But---
Dr. Bob:
Listen.
The book is honest.
It's messy.
It's human.
Just like us.
Bill W.:
Yeah but—
Dr. Bob:
Bill.
The only thing that matters is this:
A drunk picks it up.
Reads a few pages.
And feels less alone.
Bill W.:
...
Dr. Bob:
And then he finds another drunk.
And they read it together.
And they stay alive one more day.
Bill W.:
I love you, man.
Dr. Bob:
Love you too.
Now quit panicking and go buy a clean shirt.
You’re meeting the printer tomorrow, remember?
Bill W.:
Haha. Right.
(Should I get a tie??)
Dr. Bob:
NO DRESS CODE!!
We went over this!!
Bill W.:
LOL.
Dr. Bob:
Breathe, brother.
God's got this.
Bill W.:
Ok.
Here goes nothing.
Or everything.
[ End of "Recovered Textphone Records" ]
